The Press no. 46/2010
“The truth hurts me, I know. The truth hurts me, you-know.” So bad that, fortunately, there are those who take care not to make us feel any pain, there are those who, with reckless disregard for danger, protect us and keep us away from information so disorienting that it could crash us. Good thing. So we, the professionally turluped, we, the global human being, settle for small, very limited, irrelevant truths and, for a moment or for a lifetime, pretend that we have uncovered the altarpieces of those who bestow sugar on us. We do not miss our beautiful sensational revelations, our “unsuspected” international scandals that have come to light at the hands of a distraught Robin Hood who does not scare even kindergarten children who, instead, fear the Babau, and with good reason.
The Babau yes, that bad guy Babau is a professional and hides behind the certainty he has engendered in us that he does not exist. Basically like Santa Claus. And it releases to us, slowly, like a clever retard medication, scraps of sensationalism well commensurate with our eagerness to bite. Splinters of pseudo-truths that, ça va sans dire, cannot have any influence on the actual course of the Babau’s interests.
He is in a territory, on earth, has no flying reindeer, and is not even that telematic, having begun his work long before computers appeared. The modern Babau would make me want to date it to the immediate post-World War II period. In a control room he understands and organizes mostly catastrophic events at which he laughs amusedly while intelligence and others, pretending to be intelligent, strive to decipher, connote and historicize.
Probably the Babau is the anti-history, it is the induced chaos that justifies nemesis, palingenesis, courses and recurrences. He is neutral, as one who gives a blow to the circle and a blow to the barrel. It holds the real secrets of unjustifiable massacres, ethnic flows, and ripples of power. Hot stuff that would burn anyone’s conscience but his own. Nothing to do with Wikileaks gossip. Every now and then it sends down, in the heart of global man, the irrepressible desire for the search for truth. But the truth is rarely clean and never simple. One should, after getting to know her, understand her. It is dangerous. And we are not brave enough.
